Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“That’s . . . fun,” I offer.
“Sure it is. I’m sure they’re super proud of their great-grandson who has only spread the word ‘God’ mid-orgasm.”
Bursting into laughter, I lean my head back to the perfectly clear sky. “You could always trade in your pads for one of those black outfits with the white collar,” I say, wiping tears away from my eyes. “I can only imagine those sermons.”
“I bet every seat would be taken.”
“Oh, I bet you’re right,” I agree. “I’d fight someone for a seat.”
“As long as I have a face, you have a seat.”
Oh.
My.
God.
His smile straddles the line between mischief and debauchery the way my legs want to be straddled over his face. It’s a wicked, taunting kind of gesture that puddles me.
“What has gotten into you today?” I ask.
“Sometimes I wake up a little spirited.”
“Spirited. Got it,” I say, settling into my chair.
“Sex therapy. Go,” he commands.
“I haven’t gone,” I say, unable to look away from him. “Poppy has a friend that goes because her husband had an affair and she wanted to feel sexy again.”
“So why did she give you the card?”
My cheeks burn, the sweat breaking out along the top of my breasts more from Branch’s scrutiny than the summer sun. “A joke?”
“Why did she give you the card?” he asks again, not buying my excuse.
When I don’t answer, his legs swing towards me and he sits upright. Elbows on knees, strong shoulders angled slightly my way, his brows tug together as he awaits my response.
I know he asked me a question, but I can’t remember what it is. There are too many stimuli to process to think of such trivial things. The way his body wash floats on the warm summer breeze, the way little beads of sweat form against his smooth, tanned skin. The way his teeth are so straight and white and his nose angled and that damn dimple that dips into his cheek as he watches my irises widen when he lays his palm on my bare thigh.
My body clenches at the contact, something I know he notices because his fingers lightly press into my skin a little harder. My lips fall apart as I drag oxygen into my lungs to help clear the fog.
“There’s no way you need a sex therapist. No way in hell.”
“Maybe I do. You don’t know me.”
“I know you’re sexy as fuck,” he says, the last syllable so enunciated that it feels like it bounces off me. “I also know you’re well-spoken and intelligent and you make me laugh every time I’m with you.”
“Which has been like four times in our lives, so it’s not like I’m setting records here.”
He smiles, but I think the fact that he does annoys him.
“You are seriously bothered by this, aren’t you?” I kid. “You aren’t going to let this go.”
Like a petulant child, he fires back immediately. “No, I’m not.”
“Tell me why it bothers you first and then I’ll tell you why I have it.”
“It bothers me,” he says, not missing a beat, “because I can’t imagine a woman like you not having complete confidence in herself. And if it was a man that you were talking to, it also makes me think I went into the wrong profession.”
“Oh, like you don’t have enough women to talk about sex with.”
“I don’t want to talk about sex,” he clarifies. “I want you to tell me all your sexual secrets.”
Despite the heat, a chill rips across my body. I actually shiver. His eyes train on my lips as my tongue brushes against them in an attempt to bring some moisture back to my mouth.
“Tell me something, Sunshine.”
“You think you can call me some cute nickname and have me open up with all my dirty secrets? Does this work with other women?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.
“I haven’t tried it with other women.”
“Why?”
“Quite frankly, I don’t have to. Now, back to the dirty secrets you were getting ready to tell me.”
Emboldened by the ease of our banter, I lift my legs off the side of the chair and face him. Leaning forward, I whisper, “I wasn’t about to tell you anything.”
His nostrils flair at the proximity of our bodies, his legs capturing mine between them and holding them in place like a clamp. “Would you rather show me?”
“You aren’t a sex therapist.”
“Trust me—there are plenty of testimonials I could gather that would say sex with me is wholly therapeutic.”
Laughing, I try to sit back but his legs lock me in place. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I honestly have no dirty secrets. I was going to see the doctor on the card for some confidence boosting, if you must know. That’s the shameful reason. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not excusing you,” he says. “If you get up and walk away, I’ll feel sad.” He sticks his bottom lip out.